To the Hall of Balthi

[Eclecticon]

As the outlaws disappear into the wood, the Fellowship of the Helm continues its journey southward.  By unspoken agreement, the outlaws venture ahead and make no further contact with the companions, though they can be heard from time to time as the two groups come close to each other.  Keeping the Dusky River in sight to their left, the Fellowship sees a small boat go by, borne swiftly by the current of the river, which is not so languid here as it is in the lower country to the south, and the heaving backs of the man and woman who row.  Ingomer, it seems, is not content to wait for the call to arms to arrive with the companions, but has sent his own messengers ahead. 

The second night out from Woodland Hall, the Fellowship makes camp close enough to the outlaws to overhear their conversation over supper, and singing for some time thereafter.  Their concerns are, in the main, common and worldly things: the stealing of wayward sheep and the taste of ale warmed by the spring sun.  But as with all other Men away from their kindred and homes, their words belie a longing for loved ones left behind, be the speakers never so rough and ill-reputed.  They speak of their fellows in other bands, for the outlaws have grown in number, it transpires, as folk have fled the madness of Caewin in the east, or the consequences of hard decisions made over cruel winters.  The outlaws share a black and grim humour that tells with great eloquence of meagre beginnings, awful misfortunes and lingering ill-blood.  One song in particular is repeated on occasion both day and night:

  From the marsh beside the creek
  Malgo's body rose.
  Leeches on its fingertips
  Mud between its toes. 

  Through the gates of Woodmen-Town
  Malgo's body came
  Looking for a worthy man
  Vidans was his name. 

  Past the guards and through the door
  Malgo's body crept. 
  Sat itself beside the pallet
  On which Vidans slept. 

  Tossing, turning, whimpering
  In the moonlight dull,
  Vidans woke to see the pits
  Of Malgo's grinning skull. 

  To the folk of Woodmen-Town
  Vidans told his tale,
  He was Malgo's murderer. 
  Justice did prevail. 

  In the marsh beside the creek,
  Where the willows grow
  Vidans' body hangs above,
  Malgo's sleeps below.


I'll do the usual Travel rolls.  Since you have the outlaws effectively scouting ahead of you, I'll ignore any that results in a Scout-based incident.  Otherwise, based on the skills you guys have, I'll break the roles down as follows unless I hear any objections:

Esgalwen: Look-out
Grimbeorn: Guide
Hathcyn: Huntsman

Rollin' rollin' rollin... (Travel TN 16)

Esgalwen

1d12 : 8, total 8
Rolled 3d6 : 6, 6, 3, total 15

Grimbeorn

1d12 : 7, total 7
Rolled 4d6 : 5, 3, 4, 4, total 16

Hathcyn

1d12 : 11, total 11
Rolled 3d6 : 3, 1, 5, total 9

[Eclecticon]

Okay, Esgalwen gains an AP and Hathcyn gains two Fatigue.  () 

We also get to roll to see what kind of hazard our intrepid heroes have fallen arse-backward into:

1d12 : 6, total 6

[Eclecticon]

That'll be our Huntsman's problem.  Let's see what's at stake:

1d12 : 1, total 1

[Eclecticon]

By the third day out of Woodland Hall, the rough ring of steadings surrounding Wuduseld has been left far behind, and that surrounding Woodmen-Town has not yet been reached.  The woods, however, seem to teem with life: birds flit from branch to branch, squirrels vociferously dispute each others' territory and sleek, black pigs snort and snuffle beneath the ancient, gnarled roots of the trees. 

One of these does Hathcyn almost snare on an afternoon when their supplies begin to run low, only to have it slip his clutches and lead him on a chase so merry he almost forgets himself, letting the creature run on and on until the companions' campsite is far behind him. 


Weariness - the great slayer of PCs!  I'm going to say that, if Hathcyn fails his Hunting roll, he's enjoying being Swift a little too much, and it'll take him hours to find his way back to the others (making him temporarily Weary until you get a good night's rest in a safe place). 

1d12 : 1, total 1
Rolled 3d6 : 5, 1, 6, total 12

[Eclecticon]

Tom, that's a failure unless you care to spend Hope on it... 

EDIT:  While I'm doing a bunch of mechanical stuff, I'll point out that, as it's springtime, you can sing Arbogast's song The Trees Are Coming Into Leaf with a successful Song roll (vs TN 14).  Success means that you're Inspired until the end of the adventure.  You can 'spend' the inspiration to add two success dice (i.e. 2d6) to any single roll.  If you get more successes than there are PCs (unlikely, but possible with great and extraordinary successes), you add an extra Fellowship point that vanishes at the end of the adventure if nobody uses it. 

If you want to narrate a flashback, you can already have done this, in which case you can add the dice to any of my rolls above. 

[Telcontar]

  no Hope for this. We'll need it in times to come.

[Eclecticon]

Probably the right call, with Woodmen-Town as close as it is.  Okay!  Proper story to follow tomorrow, when I get a minute.

[Telcontar]

  post to follow tomorrow

[Eclecticon]

Cool - I think we're all happy to wait and see what you make of this.

[Telcontar]

The sunlight and the woods lured the Beorning on. Just out of sight it seemed his query bounded and he was in hot pursuit. The stag seemed to tease him, just a glimpse, just a rustle, just out of reach. He quickened his pace, and then was running. His living body bounding through the woods as his fox form was want to do. Then he ran for the joy of running. His legs carrying him over the collection of mulch at the forest floor, passed fallen timber and moss covered stone. He felt the urge then to yell, but restrained himself. The energy instead put into his run, swiftly he flew without a thought to the distance he traveled and the game forgotten.

He stopped to slack his thirst and in the water noted the passage of the sun in the sky. The purpose of his task now recalled to mind. The thoughts of man again entered into his thoughts. Strange he thought...never could he recall so keenly feeling the desire if the fox with his daymind. His mind had been clear interested only in the passing of trees and speed. Then it came to him, the fox in him ran straight and true towards the Tarn.

Hathcyn returned to camp empty of game, but fixed in purpose.

As the embers of the days fire began to glow low the fatigue of his running was upon him and he desired sleep. He knew when he lay down he would soon be asleep, but no rest would he get.

"Esgalwen, will you sit with me this night?"

The Lady of Dale looked at him strangely not sure about what the question meant.

Preoccupied with thought he now saw her look and laughed.

"No, not like that. I must night travel tonight. The fox stirs in me to a degree that I feel the need to run even in my waking moments. I must try again for the Tarn. The Firewatcher must know that we are coming. Even if to just shore up his courage. A great joy it was to us when we were captives of the Orcs to know you were in pursuit and while we labor now again for our comrade he knows it not."

"Of course Hathcyn, what must I do?"

"Just sit with me and watch. My body will be oblivious to peril while my spirit runs free of its mortal coil. It likely be a long and uneventful watch and if I need to go again tomorrow I'll ask Grimbeorn. Should I begin to show wounds or signs of struggle I must be awoken.  The harm to spirit will manifest on my body and it is possible to be killed on my walk. This is a risk I must take, Arbogast needs to know we are on our way."

The Lady of Dale nodded and took up a position at his side.

"I'm ready."

Hathcyn threw himself on the ground and was soon asleep. The weariness of the chase assisting the quick passage. He knew he would suffer great fatigue, but the need was great.

The Ranger saw the calm come over his body, his breathing slowed. From the outskirts of their camp a red fox with a silver tipped tail appeared and gazed upon them. Then in a flash it was gone, running through the woods.

[tomcat]

The night hours passed and Esgalwen sat quietly by her friend's side. She occasionally took up a long stick and poked at the embers of their fire, there only to provide light and safety as only dry bread was available for food. Still, she did not want it to burn out.

Hathcyn's breathing would rise in rapid, short breaths and then return to the deep, almost imperceptible ones that concerned her more. She kept a steady gaze out into the night, seldom looking at the fire so as not to ruin the limited distance she could see under the stars - made difficult even more by the countless leaves above.

Her sword was unscabbarded and neatly stabbed into the ground. The Elven tracery along its length would begin to glow a faint light should creatures of the Shadow approach, primarily Orcs and goblins. Easily at the ready, she left the sword there and held, instead, her relaxed bow with an arrow nocked.

Hathcyn worried about weariness overtaking him from this night travel and Esgalwen harbored these same thoughts for herself. As the hours passed, she decided she would wake Grimbeorn to take over her guard. There was no sense in two of the three companions suffering weariness, especially when they soon might enter battle.

[Eclecticon]

Fleet and soundless flies Hathcyn's spirit, the miles passing beneath his paws.  About him, as before, the night wood is alive with sounds and smells bespeaking a great abundance of life.  Owls and fireflies flit above him, mice and shrews scurry through the leaf litter, all entirely unpeturbed by his passage. 

As before, however, this liveliness gives way to a wasteland, and the wholesome scents of the loam and trees are joined by those of orcs: sweat, blood and waste, but also the slow deaths of plants uprooted and trees hacked apart.  The smell of woodsmoke that surrounds every mannish house, be it that of pauper or king, is magnified manyfold, and underlying it all is the corruption of the mist from the Black Tarn. 

Knowing this time that the forest is aswarm with goblins, Hathcyn approaches obliquely, waiting, listening, smelling and moving unobserved. 


  I'm going to give Hathcyn an easier time on his Stealth roll (TN 12) this time around, since he has a better idea what he's dealing with.  Let's see how he goes:

1d12 : 6, total 6
Rolled 2d6 : 3, 5, total 8

[Eclecticon]

The goblins go about their business, unknowing of the interloper in their midst.  Despite the urgency of his journey, Hathcyn finds himself fascinated by the variation in orc-scents that carry to his nose, for curiosity is the bane of many creatures beyond cats!


Let's see just how much he picks up...

Awareness 

1d12 : 7, total 7
Rolled 3d6 : 6, 4, 5, total 15

[Eclecticon]

A motley force it is indeed that has gathered here!  He smells not only the rot-and-mulch of the forest goblins he encountered a week before, but a marshy odour that he knows for that of orcs who have crossed the valley of the great river from the Misty Mountains.  Then there are hints, tantalising flashes of a mephitic reek that he has encountered only once before, in the messenger-goblin who brought tidings from afar to the warband of Kurgak in the Long Marshes.  It is the unmistakeable mark of orcs who have made the long journey north to Wilderland from their holes and fastnesses in Mordor, the dread and awful land of which he has heard but little, and that in fireside tales that served to frighten much more than inform. 

He sees crude and bloody decorations that he knows to be signs of different bands and tribes: here the wing of some great bird nailed to a tree, there a pair of mannish hands, their skin red and rough with dried blood and their sanguine stumps abuzz with flies, dangle from a bough, bound together with what he hopes is twine. 

No simple war party is this, he thinks to himself.  Some greater will has gathered these creatures, and holds them bound to its command. 


Tom, you have an option here: push forward to make your presence known to the defenders of Black Tarn Hall, or look around for the orcs' commander.  The first will require either an Athletics roll (to jump the palisade, as before) or an Explore roll to find a gap in the timbers large enough to wriggle through.  The second will call for at least one more Stealth roll. 

[Telcontar]

  the primary mission is for his friends comfort so I'll try for the stronghold. I figure it will be harder getting in than getting back out. So if there is time I will do more recon.

I'll roll explore as it has a better chance if success, and while the LM always rolls better I'll give it a toss to see what tale the story has to tell.

Rolled 1d12 : 10, total 10

Rolled 3d6 : 1, 3, 6, total 10